


Yewbeam Child

by LilyCarmenBlack



Series: THE TREE OF THE ENDOWED SERIES [1]
Category: Charlie Bone Series | Children of the Red King - Jenny Nimmo
Genre: Book 1: Midnight for Charlie Bone, Book 2: Charlie Bone and the Time Twister, Book 3: Charlie Bone and the Blue Boa, Book 4: Charlie Bone and the Castle of Mirrors, Book 5: Charlie Bone and the Hidden King, Book 6: Charlie Bone and the Wilderness Wolf, Book 7: Charlie Bone and the Shadow of Badlock, Book 8: Charlie Bone and the Red Knight, F/M, fire manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 23:06:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13258503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyCarmenBlack/pseuds/LilyCarmenBlack
Summary: Hestia Yewbeam was a rather an unusual child. From her height to the uncanny resemblance to her father, many people thought that the girl was strange and that was before the endowment. So when strange things begin to happen at Bloor's Academy, Hestia can't help but wonder if her mother really did jump of a cliff and if her cousin's presence at Bloor's would lead to darker things.





	Yewbeam Child

**Disclaimer:**

**All character, apart from Hestia, Marion and Alpine, are my own.**

**The rest, including the story and characters belongs to the amazing Jenny Nimmo.**

* * *

**The Shattering Lights and the Talking Photographs**

* * *

_Long, long ago a king arrived in the North. They called him the Red King because he wore a scarlet cloak and his shield was emblazoned with a burning sun. It was said that he came out of Africa. This king was also a marvellous magician and each of his ten children inherited a small part of his power. But when the king's wife died, five of his children turned to wickedness and the other five, seeking to escape the corruption that surrounded their evil siblings, left their father's castle forever._

_Brokenhearted, the Red King vanished into the forests that covered the kingdoms of the North. He did not go alone, however, for he was followed by his three faithful cats — leopards to be precise. We must never forget the cats! The manifold and fabulous powers of the Red King were passed down through his descendants, often turning up quite unexpectedly in someone who had no idea where they came from._

_Powers such as speaking to animals, and controlling fire; amazing gifts which stemmed from hypnotism, and telepathy, but in the end, they were all part of the same family, all relatives surging from one strong bloodline. This is what happened to Hestia Yewbeam, her cousin—Charlie Bone—and to some of the children, they met behind the grim, grey walls of Bloor's Academy._

* * *

**_January 1988_ **

_The woman in the pale yellow dress sat in the corner, away from any light; her fire-red hair falling to her shoulders in a neat plait. A thick, creamy menu sat in her grip, a pair of squared spectacles sitting on her pointed nose. On the floor beside her, a worn satchel clung to the amber wood, the faded leather rough and speckled with mud. She was about twenty, a young opera singer with a kind smile and a lovely voice. Marion Grey flicked through the menu, her brows furrowed as she tried to read the looping, cursive script._

_Paton Yewbeam licked his lips, wondering whether or not to approach his beloved. He had been courting Marion for over a year, and although he was eleven years her senior, the two had somehow fallen in love when he had met her at an herbal shop in Edinburgh. The box in his pocket felt heavy, about the weight of a small stone, but the dread that clung to him caused the lights in the restaurant to shudder._

_He had never been afraid of women, just mildly curious and slightly oblivious to their pretty looks, but now, as he gathered the courage to walk past the glass doors and into the restaurant, his lips quivered. What if she said, no? What if Marion hated him for who he was?_

_He pulled at his coat, wrapping the thick wool further around his lean body. He sighed, his breath cradling in the cold air, and before he could change his mind, pushed open the door, and allowed the warm, amber light to shine down on his nervous body._

_Marion looked up as the lights flickered again, her blue eyes searching through a maze of customers and waitresses until her soft eyes landed on Paton's tall frame. Her thin lips broke into a smile, her hand raising slightly in a casual wave. Paton returned the greeting, his head bowing in her direction._

_'Sir,' a waiter said, suddenly materialising beside him. 'Would you like me to take your coat?'_

_'Err, yes,' Paton whispered, shrugging out his coat and handing it to the stout, little man. 'Thank you,'_

_The waiter nodded, folding the coat in his arms before striding past the thirty-one-year-old and disappearing into a small cupboard. The lights flickered again. Paton closed his eyes, tightening the leash on his gift. The lights dimmed, however, one light stayed bright and pure, the amber gleam turning white hot. As Paton approached Marion, he heard a small pop and the tinkle of breaking glass. He suppressed a shudder. He hadn't meant to do that._

_'Hello, Paton,' Marion said as Paton slid into the chair next to her, his long legs pressing against her own. Paton cleared his throat and fiddled with his napkin._

_'Good evening, Mari,' he said. Marion raised her eyebrows, setting her menu down on the table. She leant towards Paton, her blue eyes twinkling and bright._

_'I have no idea what's on here,' she whispered, tapping the menu with her finger. 'I think it's all in French, which, as you know, is gobbledygook to me,'_

_Paton smiled, his dark eyes shining in amusement._

_'Well, then,' he said, pressing his hand to Marion's, 'why don't I read it?'_

_'You dear,' Marion replied, handing the menu to him, 'are as bad as French as I am.'_

_'I am a little better.' Paton grinned. 'Besides, you spent most of your days sleeping in Madam Fouché's lessons.'_

_'So did you, you little hypocrite!' Marion gasped, eyes wide as she pointing at Paton's face. 'Lyell told me!'_

_'Ah,' Paton breathed, leaning close to Marion so that his forehead almost touched hers. 'Don't listen to everything my nephew has to say about me. He likes to twist stories around,'_

_'Oh hush,' Marion smirked, 'you're just jealous that your nephew and I are friends,'_

_'Am I now?' Paton chuckled._

_'Yes,' Marion said, leaning back in her chair, one hand threading through her hair, the other still pressed firmly to the table._

_'Well, mon amour,' Paton mused. 'I think it's time you got to know my nephew a little better.'_

_'Now, you're just showing off,' Marion mumbled as Paton lifted her hand to his lips._

_'Yes,' Paton said, 'I am.'_

_They ordered their food, and after two empty dishes, and two glasses of wine returned to the kitchens, the couple paid, and left the restaurant, their coats buttoned up as they fought the winter cold. Marion paid no heed to the flickering streetlights, and instead chatted quietly to Paton. By the time the two reached a small park and collapsed on a rickety park bench, the air was beginning to freeze._

_'I love winter,' Marion whispered, turning her face to the clouded sky. 'You can always smell when snow's coming.'_

_'Maybe you can,' Paton replied, hand in his pocket. 'But I certainly can't.'_

_Marion smiled turning to face the man. Down the road, a streetlamp popped and encased the street in darkness._

_'Well,' Marion said, grasping her freezing fingers with Paton's hand, 'you never know, I might have some hidden powers.'_

_'Wouldn't that be exciting,' Paton replied, wrapping a hand around his girlfriend's shoulders._

_'Very,' Marion replied. Paton raised his eyebrows. To the right of the couple, a streetlamp flickered brightly, before the glass shattered._

_'Look at that,' Marion whispered, as she stared up at the broken streetlamp. 'There must be something faulty with the circuit. That's the fourth time this week something like that has happened.'_

_Paton licked his lips and watched his breath curdle in the night air. He had to tell her soon...she was becoming suspicious._

_'Mari,' he whispered, 'you've met my sisters, right?'_

_Marion snorted, resting her head on her love's arm._

_'How could I not,' she said, 'they're crazy!'_

_'Yes, they are. But that's not why I wanted to talk about them. Although my sisters are, yes, to put it for a better word, crazy, they are also incredibly difficult. They have ruled by life, or at least tried to, ever since my mother died.' Paton said. 'The thing is, they are also incredibly dangerous, and what I am about to say may change your mind about me.'_

_Paton closed his eyes, his voice halting like a train. Marion squeezed his hand._

_'It's all right,' she whispered. 'You can tell me,'_

_Paton sighed._

_'Two of them, Eustacia and Venetia, are especially dangerous.' Paton continued. 'For they have the Yewbeam Gift. But that doesn't mean Grizelda and Lucretia are any less.'_

_'The Yewbeam Gift?' Marion whispered. 'Are they like, geniuses or evil masterminds or something?'_

_Paton grinned, a deep chuckle rising from his chest._

_'No, no,' he breathed. 'Although I'm sure they like to think that. They're endowed. But my sister's gifts are terrible.'_

_Marion shuffled uncomfortably._

_'Terrible, how?' she asked._

_'They've hurt people and ruined other's lives.' Paton replied. 'And Eustacia and Venetia have used their gifts to end those they hate.'_

_Marion shuddered._

_'That's awful,'_

_'I know. Eustacia and Venetia's endowments appeared when they were quite young, around the age of four and five… However, mine arrived a bit too late.'_

_Marion stiffened, her finger's tightening around Paton's hand. To the left of the couple, a lamp popped._

_'It was my seventh birthday. I was so excited; my gift, unfortunately, responded to my emotions and pop…' he waved his hand, 'I had shattered the lightbulbs. My friends were sent home and my parents let me eat all the remaining ice-cream. I was sick an hour later. Partly due to the amount of ice-cream I'd managed to consume, but it was mostly due to the tiny shards of glass that I'd swallowed when my gift exploded.'_

_He looked up at the lamppost above him, staring up at the shiny, warm light. It sang, a high pitched noise rippling through the night, and then there was a small bang. Darkness encased the young couple. Marion stared as tiny, dusty shards sprinkled onto the grass behind them. For a long while, Paton held his breath, waiting for Marion to respond. When she didn't reply, he continued._

_'I'm trying to tell you, that I'm endowed. I am like Tallev Torrson and my sisters…except unlike Eustacia and Venetia, I have never hurt anyone. I'm…I'm sorry if I scared you, but I want you to understand what dangers there are about my family.'_

_Marion turned to face him. She squeezed his hand._

_'You haven't scared me at all,' she whispered. 'I think it's beautiful.'_

_'What?' Paton perplexed. 'Why?'_

_Marion shrugged._

_'I don't know,' she said. 'I just think that it suits you. It's not that dangerous, and in the end, I was friends with some endowed students at Bloor's. Not many, considering that there were very few, but enough to know their powers. Besides, my brother's endowed.'_

_Paton sighed deeply._

_'Thank God,' he said._

_For a moment, Paton paused, and then he rose to his feet, turning to face Marion._

_'That's not all I wanted to say,'_

_Marion frowned._

_'When_ _I met you, I never thought I'd love you._ _You were young Mari, younger than anyone I'd ever met, but… You deserve the very best, someone, who will take you to the stars and let you sing, not a freakishly tall giant. But, somehow, you liked me back, and here we are, sitting on a bench in January listening to me ramble on about endowments.' Paton sighed, pressing his hand to his forehead. 'We've both seen the hellish secrets that the Bloors' have hidden from the world, and become better people because of it. God, I don't know how to say this…so here it is. Mari, will you marry me?'_

_He was on both his knees now, his head bent forward so that he couldn't see her face. His hands shook as he pulled out the small box, pressing it into is girlfriend's hands. He heard her opening it, the light click as the latch snapped into place. She didn't say anything, and Paton was sure she wasn't breathing. He was about to turn and run when Marion pressed her forehead to his own._

_Paton looked up at her, watching her with a pair of dark eyes. A thin smile traced her lips, and for a flickering moment, Paton thought he saw a hint of excitement in her bright eyes. Then she touched his face, gently guiding his lips to her own. The kiss was sweet and small, something the two rarely ever did, but as the snow fluttered down beside them, the first remnants of winter peeking through the gloom, Paton realised he had done the right thing._

_'Of course, I will, you numpty,' Marion whispered._

* * *

 

**October 2002**

Her father's gift must have erupted again because there was a sprinkle of broken glass covering the rug, that or someone had smashed all the light bulbs with a walking stick. Hestia Yewbeam had heard the small popping sounds from her bedroom, and for a brief second had wondered if her cousin had heard it too, but Charlie simply rolled over and thankfully slept on. Breathing softly, Hestia pulled back her covers and slipped her warm feet into her freezing shoes. The night was cold, and as Hestia crept out of the room, her dark hair fell around her shivering shoulders.

The hallway was dark and suspicious, with the remains of broken light bulbs scattered across the landing. Biting her lip, Hestia manoeuvred around the glass until she stopped at her father's door, and gripped the handle tightly. She ignored the large, "DO NOT DISTURB!" sign that decorated the doorway and with a small shove, stepped into her father's room.

Pieces of paper flooded the room. They hung from the ghastly, faded purple wallpaper; they dripped off the windowsill and completely smothered her father's desk. His bed was laden with books and even more burst from creeping bookshelves that lined the walls from floor to ceiling; some were even rising from the ground in wobbly towers. Her father sat at his desk, his head pressed to the ancient timber, his black hair falling around his lean face in messy, uneven strands. A pot of ink sat beside his head and unlike Hestia, he was not wearing his pyjamas.

'Dad,' Hestia whispered, as she carefully moved towards her father. 'Dad? Are you all right?'

The man of forty-five raised his head, turning his sharp gaze to his daughter.

'I'm fine, Hes,' he said. Paton Yewbeam raised his hand, catching his daughter's shoulder as she approached.

'You don't look fine,' Hestia replied. Her father sighed.

'I'm frustrated,' the power-booster responded. 'I can't seem to get anything right.'

'The Red King, again?'

'It always is,' her father agreed. 'These books just don't have anything on him. It's like he never wanted to be remembered...'

'The lights in the hallway are all broken,' Hestia murmured. 'In mine and Charlie's room too. I thought I tell you,'

'Great, just what I need,' Paton whispered, leaning back in his chair. He sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose.

'Right then,' he said, turning to face his daughter. 'We better clean up the mess,'

The historian rose, his tall frame stretching high above his daughters. When Hestia was small, she rather liked looking like her father, for both Yewbeams had their ancestor's tremendous height, stern features and dark hair. But as the years lengthened, and puberty set in, Hestia was a little ungrateful for her forefather tremendous height, especially since she had started her menstrual cycle when she was eight. Once, she stood below the boys, her head barely reaching their shoulder. Now, it was the other way round.

Hestia towered over her classmates, and although she had turned twelve earlier that year, she was still growing. Her aunts hated her for her freakish growth, and her father reckoned that she may even outgrow him. But of course, that was impossible, for Paton Yewbeam was the tallest person she knew, and even Tancred and Lysander's father, who were both impeccably tall, would have to strain their necks to look at him.

Hestia and Paton quickly replaced the lightbulbs, the secret stash under Hestia's bed clinking lightly as they moved around the hall, and screwed the bulbs back into their rightful lamps. Hestia scrambled along the landing, weaving in and out of her father's large feet, tidying up the glass with a dustpan and brush. By the time the two had cleared, replaced and hidden the evidence of broken glass, dawn was breaking over the city's pointed roofs. Paton patted his daughter's shoulder, told her to get some sleep, and before she could open her mouth, had disappeared into his room, an apple in his hand.

Eyes closed, Hestia snuck back to her and Charlie's room, but she didn't sleep. Instead, the girl sat by the window, her music book in hand. Although she found Mr Pilgrim slightly unnerving, he was an excellent piano teacher, who if prodded in the right direction could teach his students with exultant results coming his way. But because the man was odd, he had very few students, and whether it be my chance or misfortune, Hestia was one of those students.

Over the next few hours, she pretended to play an imaginary piano, her fingers drifting over air as if they were piano keys. She had opened the window, allowing the thin stream of birdsong to drift into the bedroom, and had placed a book on top of her music sheets just in case they decided to float out the window.

A thick cloud was hovering above the Thunder House, by the time Charlie awoke. Lightning glittered down the Torrson's pointed rooftops, spitting electricity in its wake. Apparently, either Tancred or his father was in a mood, but judging by the dramatic cloud that hungered over the ancient house, Hestia had a funny feeling it wasn't her friend.

Charlie groaned as the sunlight shone into his room, the reddish hands pushing him out of dreamworld and into reality. Hestia looked up, a thin smile on her face.

'Good morning, sleepyhead,' she said, taking her music sheet and folding it in half. 'I see you slept in,'

'Why are you awake?' Charlie grumbled, his eyes half closed.

'There was a storm in the night,' Hestia lied. 'It blew all the lights in the house. Thankfully, it was dad and me who woke up, otherwise, we might have Aunt Bone on our tails.'

'Yeah,' Charlie yawned. 'I doubt Grandma Bone would like glass shards over the house.'

There was a knock at the door and Hestia and Charlie looked up to see Amy Bone, Charlie's cousin and Hestia's cousin-in-law. Amy was young, settling somewhere in her early thirties, and not a wrinkle in sight. Her golden brown hair was pulled into a low ponytail and hidden behind a small fringe pair of bright blue eyes watched the children.

'Good,' she said, folding her arms and leaning on the doorframe, 'your up. Maisie's just made breakfast so you two better get dressed and down in ten minutes or Grandma Bone will complain.'

Once Amy had gone, Charlie sighed, flopped back onto his bed and covered his head with his pillow.

'Up, Charles,' Hestia pestered as she put her music sheet back into her bag. 'I want breakfast.'

'I hate mornings,' came the voice from the pillow.

'Tough,' Hestia grumbled. She walked over to the small chest of draws that sat by her bed and pulled out a pair of jeans and a baggy green shirt. She opened another drawer, grabbing a set of underwear from the draw before throwing Charlie a shirt from his wardrobe. The shirt landed on the boy's dark, wiry hair. Quickly, she stripped off her pyjamas, ignoring Charlie's grumbling and pulled on her clothes. She was just tying her inky hair into a long plait when Charlie finished dressing. Together the two bounded down the stairs, their sock covered feet slipping on the polished wood.

The two quickly entered the kitchen, ate their breakfast, and before Maisie could ask why there were glass shards in the bin, Hestia grabbed her coat, slipped on her boots and hurried out the door. It took longer than she expected to reach Tancred's house, that as she arrived her hair was whipping wildly in the fierce wind. She found Lysander halfway up the drive, his dreadlocks spinning in the wind, his dark skin as pale as ash.

'Morning,' Lysander whispered as the two charged forwards, their coats spinning. 'What or who do you think pissed Tanc's dad off?'

'There are many things, Sander,' Hestia responded as the two pushed open the gate to the Torrsons' home.

Lysander grabbed Hestia's arm as they approached the front door, the wind trying to blow the two teens away. Lysander's grip on Hestia's hand tightened as she knocked on the large door.

The two friends jumped back as Mrs Torrson opened the door, her blond hair hanging down her back in thin, wispy tendrils. Mrs Torrson, or Heather, as she had insisted Lysander and Hestia call her, was rather small, with long willowy arms that seemed to wrap around the house like cement. She was the gravity that held her son and husband to the earth, her earthy eyes shining behind a misty, disoriented sheen. Hestia didn't know when Mrs Torrson's sight disappeared, but for as long as she could remember, Tancred's mother was blind.

'Who's there?' she asked a frown etched on her face. A large mug sat in one hand, the thick smell of coffee curdling from the rim.

'It's Hestia and Lysander, Mrs Torrson,' Lysander replied. 'May we come in?'

'Of course,' Mrs Torrson said, opening the door wider to allow the two endowed to enter her home. 'Tancred didn't tell me you were coming over.'

'We'd thought we would surprise him,' Hestia answered. 'It's almost the end of half term, so we thought we'd say hi,'

'Great,' Mrs Torrson said. 'Do you want anything to eat?'

Hestia looked to Lysander.

'We're fine, Mrs Torrson,' Lysander fiddled with his coat.

'Right, well, you know where he is. Remember to take your shoes off…and for the last time, it's Heather,'

'Yes, Mrs Torrson,' the two teen responded. Mrs Torrson huffed, clutched her mug tighter and diapered into the living room.

Quickly, Hestia and Lysander removed their shoes, hung their coats on the coat hanger and bound up the stairs to Tancred's bedroom. Tancred's room resided on the most northerly point in the Torrsons' home, and it overlooked the city in a thick, rolling gloom. As the two friends approached Tancred's room, they heard the sound of Mr Torrson walking above them, his tall frame pacing back and forth in his study. Quickly, Lysander opened Tancred's bedroom door and pushed Hestia inside.

Tancred lay sprawled on his bed, as a stream of electricity danced in between his fingers. His blonde hair crackled with an excitable energy as the two entered the room and an invisible wind rippled through the room, causing a green cloak, which was folded neatly on his desk chair, to flutter. The weather-monger seemed to be meditating, that or be was trying to rattle the large painting that hung on his wall. Judging by the way his face was screwed up and his eyes were snapped shut, Hestia assumed that it was the latter.

'Hey Tanc,' Hestia said. Tancred lazily turned to his friends, his eyes opening slowly as the closed the door behind them.

'Morning, Sander, Tia,' the weather-monger replied. The lightning in his hand dispersed as he sat up. 'What you doing here?'

'Well,' Lysander began, 'considering it's almost the end of half-term, I decided to come and see you. I guess Tia had the same idea because we're both here.'

Hestia shrugged.

'Dad broke all the lights in the house last night, I didn't really want to be there when Aunt Bone found out,'

'Huh,' Tancred said, rising to his feet and running a hand through his hair. 'What did he do to make the light's shatter? Did he get angry?'

'No,' Hestia replied, hesitant of her friend's hopeful tone. 'He was frustrated. Apparently being a historian is tiresome — especially when the subject you're working on is more of a myth than actual truth.'

Tancred shrugged, folding his arms across his chest.

'So, what do you want to do?'

'We could go outside,' Lysander suggested. 'Play, "Man Hunt."'

'We'd need a bunch of other people to play that game,' Hestia groaned. 'Besides, I don't think there aren't many children up here in the Heights.'

'There's me and Tanc, obviously,' Lysander said, 'and Gabriel Silk, along with several unendowed children who don't go to Bloor's.'

'We could just go into the forest.' Tancred suggested.

'You hate the forest,' Hestia said, 'it's full of spiders. Besides the last time we went there, something gave me the creeps,'

Tancred shuddered as if remembering the eight-legged creatures.

'Why don't we go into town,' Lysander said. 'Look at the cathedral and walk around the graveyard?'

Tancred shrugged.

'Fine by me. Tia, you in?'

Hestia nibbled her bottom lip.

'All right,' said Hestia.

'Great,' Tancred said, wrapping an arm around his friends' shoulders. 'We best be on our way.'

And then, before Hestia could stop them, the two boys had linked their arms through hers and dragged her out the room. They were just slipping on their coats and tightening the laces of their shoes when Tancred's father hurried down the stairs. Tallev Torrson was a tall man, standing at seven feet with a pair of haunted blue eyes and a wild mess of moon-yellow hair. This thick, electrified beard hung down his chest in three long plaits and lodged tightly in his hand, sat a large book.

He barely glanced at the three children who hunkered in the doorway and instead grunted as he past. He opened the basement door and disappeared down the wonky staircase. The door slammed shut behind him, and above the Torrsons' home, a thick storm cloud brewed.

'What's in the basement?' Lysander asked. Tancred shrugged.

'He won't tell me,' he said, checking his pockets for his keys. 'Mamma told me that there were bats down there, but I think she told me that to keep me out. Come on, let's go.'

Tancred opened the door and shuffled his friend out of the house. He turned as he was closing the door, sticking his blonde head back into the house.

'Mamma! We're leaving!'

'Be back before dinner!' Mrs Torrson's voice called from the living room.

'Will do!'

Tancred shut the door.

'Come on,' he said, shooing his friends away from the door. 'Before she remembers that pappa told her not to let me out.'

'Why wouldn't he let you out?' Lysander asked as the friends hurried down the Torrsons' rocky path. 'He's Norwegian, doesn't that mean he wants you outside. Your culture is basically immersed in outdoorsy things.'

'Yeah, normally,' Tancred admitted. 'But pappa's become a little paranoid over the last month. He keeps telling me that something bad's going to happen. It didn't help that Bloor's was on fire yesterday either. Did you do it, Hestia?'

Hestia shook her head.

'No, but I felt it,' she admitted. 'The flames were begging me to make them stronger. I had to lock myself in the downstairs bathroom and douse myself in icy water. I was about to explode.'

'Ooh, not good,' Lysander responded.

'Yeah, not good,' Hestia muttered. 'I had to lie to Charle, telling him that I fell in some mud.'

'Don't you wish you could ever tell him,' Tancred asked, 'about your endowment?'

'If I unleash that kettle of fish, then everything else would tumble out. I don't think Charlie particularly wants to know that his cousin can set things on fire and that his great-uncle can make lights explode.'

Lysander snorted. Tancred smiled.

By the time the three entered the city, the large cathedral bell was ringing the twelfth gong and a steady stream of people had taken to the streets. Women and children, men and sweethearts lined High Street, their bags crushing against their side as they wobbled up the street. Hestia, Lysander and Tancred carefully manoeuvred around them all, and after checking their pockets for money, the three slipped inside the cathedral. They each gave three pounds to the receptionist and were allowed into the large, looming building.

The cathedral's roof towered above the three endowed, their arched roof pointing towards the heavens in streams of marble and gold. A stone floor sat underneath the children's feet, leading towards a large altar. Five hundred oak pews lined the large room like ships cutting through the water and tucked away behind a small curtain sat the organ. Hestia's heart lurched as she stared at the brass knobs and ivory keys. A balding man sat behind the keyboard, his pudgy fingers rattling the keys beneath his fingers. Every so often he would raise his hand, and pull a small plug, allowing the metal pipes to breath a new song.

It wasn't Lyell playing the organ, rather, another organist with another name. He didn't have the same passion for music as her cousin once had, that was obvious, for his eyes were glazed and bored, his music sloppy and hollow. Although Hestia had been four when her cousin had died, she could still remember the haunting sound that echoed from the organ when he had played. She shuddered, face taut.

'You all right?'

It was Tancred.

Lysander was not that far away, his dark eyes looking up at the painting of a faded saint. He read the plaque beneath the woman's portent and his eyes narrowed, confusion washing over his face.

'I'm fine,' Hestia breathed. Tancred's eyes narrowed.

'You look like your about to cry.'

'It's nothing,' Hestia snapped. She pushed past her friend, following the sign to the graveyard. As soon as she stepped outside into the gloomy day, Hestia closed her eyes. Maybe it was a bad idea to come to the cathedral. It brought back too many bad memories. Her cousin's death…her mother's suicide.

Hestia jumped as a hand landed on her shoulder. It was Tancred again, but be wasn't angry. Instead, a calming breeze travelled around him, his kind eyes watching the Fire-Bringer with a curious gaze.

'What is it?' Tancred asked. Hestia breathed heavily, squeezing her eyes tight as the tears welled up behind her eyes.

'Mummy's buried here,' she whispered. Tancred's back stiffened, his powers faltering for a split-second. 'So is Lyell…well, his gravestone's here. They never found the body,'

'Do you want to go see them,'

Hestia nodded. Hand to her back, Tancred gently guided Hestia through the graves. Their feet crunched over gravel and grass, that as Hestia approached the back of the graveyard, her shoulders began to shake. Two tombstones sat side by side under a large fir tree. Hestia reached forward, to the older stone, and pressed her finger to the cold granite.

_**Marion-May Yewbeam** _

_**1968 - 1990** _

Carefully, Hestia turned to look at the grave next to her mothers. Her cousin's grave was cleaner as if someone had tidied it. "Lyell Bone" was unscripted in silver letters, his birthday and death date carved into the marble surface. A large golden "Y" sat underneath the man's name, his family lineage forever burned into his resting peace.

'Afternoon cousin, mummy,' Hestia murmured, choking as tears ran down her face. 'Dad's still breaking lightbulbs.'

She smiled, biting back tears.

'I'm here with my friends today. Tancred and Lysander. I told you about them last year.' Tancred rubbed his friend's shoulder as she continued. 'I'm doing okay at Bloor's. Manfred's still an ass, but that's what happens become if your father's the headmaster.'

She smiled.

'Well, it was nice talking to you. I'll try and bring dad next time.'

Hestia wiped the tears with her sleeve.

'Thanks,' she said to Tancred. Her voice was sad and hollow.

'No problem,' the storm-monger whispered. For a while the two said nothing, allowing a cold breeze to sweep across the graveyard. Tancred squeezed Hestia's hand, comforting her in is own little way.

'HEY! TAC! HES!' the two jumped as Lysander's shout reached their ears. 'THEY'RE CLOSING THE CATHEDRAL IN TEN MINUETS! WE BETTER GO!'

'Come on, Hes,' Tancred said, pulling Hestia away from the graves. 'We'd best get back.'

Hestia said nothing.

By the time Tancred and Lysander dropped Hestia off at number nine Filbert Street, it was dark, and the rolling clouds were darkening across the night sky. Hestia tugged off her shoes as she entered the house, her legs sore and stiff from all the walking she had done. She pulled a stray leaf from her hair and smiled. The tree outside her home was a large chestnut and cast long shadows in most on the rooms. Often, Aunt Bone would grumble that the tree damp and creaky, threatening to cut it down in case it fell and killed her. But, like many of the other strange things that Aunt Bone complained about, no one at number nine did anything about the tree. Hestia slipped out of her coat, hanging it on the bannister as she walked down the hallway.

'Maisie,' she cried, 'I'm back!'

'I'm in the kitchen,' the elderly woman responded. Hestia swiftly walked down the corridor, pushing the door open with her foot.

The kitchen's warm air encased Hestia in a warm hug, and as she closed the door behind her, she was met with a very strange sight. Aunt Bone was not sitting in her chair. Hestia bit her lip. Ever since she was small, her aunt had sat by the stove, resting her cold hands over the warm hob. She purposely chose to get in Maisie's way and sent her niece and grandson withered looks whenever they entered the kitchen. Once, her father had said that his sister was pretty, with thick black hair and large dark eyes, but as the years lengthened and she grew older, a darkness settled in her bones. Grizelda Bone liked being cruel, whether it was tugging at Hestia's shoulders, demanding that she sit up or commenting on Charlie's hedgehog-like hair. Before Aunt Bone married Montague Bone she liked to remind everyone that she had been a Yewbeam, something which Hestia was constantly reminded about.

Hestia stared at the empty chair.

'Where's Aunt Bone?' she asked. Maisie shrugged.

'I don't know dear,' she said. 'Why don't you sit down. You look like you've walked through a thunderstorm.'

Hestia smiled at the irony.

'Well, I did walk up to the Heights with Sander to see Tanc. There's a storm always brewing at Thunder house.'

Maisie huffed, handing Hestia a mug of tea. The girl thanked her and drank the steaming brew.

'Yes,' Maisie grumbled as she turned away from the children. 'there always is,'

Hestia smiled, turning to face her cousin.

'How was school?' she asked.

'We'd maths in the morning.' Charlie grumbled.

'I don't really like maths either,' Hestia said. She quickly changed the subject. 'So, what are you getting for Benjamin's birthday?'

Charlie shrugged.

'I don't know yet, but I have an amazing idea for his card.'

'Which is?' asked Hestia. Charlie grinned at her.

'I've taken a photograph of Runner Bean and I'm going to make it into a card.'

'Cool,' Hestia said, sipping her tea. 'I think he'll like that.'

Charlie nodded.

The front door opened again and a few minutes later Charlie's mother rushed into the room, a large box full of overripe apples and rhubarb spilling out of the box. Hestia reached forward to help Amy.

'They'll make a lovely crumble,' she said, dumping the box on the table and leaning down to kiss Charlie's head. Unlike Hestia's father who was unemployed, Amy Bone worked at the local greengrocer, and unfortunately for the Bone-Jones-Yewbeam family, that meant that there was a lot of spoilt vegetables entering number nine's door.

Charlie and Hestia leant away from the rotting fruit.

'Have you got my photo, Mum?' he asked, looking up at his mother with large, hopeful eyes. Amy Bone's eyes narrowed for a split second before she reached her hand into her shopping bag and pulled out a large orange envelope. She put it beside Charlie's plate. Hestia's cousin ripped the envelope faster than a bullet, but as he pulled the image out of the envelope, a puzzled expression melted across his face.

'What is it?' Hestia asked, looking over his shoulder. Her eyes narrowed when she saw the photograph. It wasn't Runner Bean. The man in the photograph was holding a baby, his greying hair falling across a pair of thick glasses. His black suit was wrinkled and speckled in stains and he sat stiffly in a chair, his hands tightly wrapped around the child who sat in his arms.

Hestia jumped as her aunt suddenly appeared. She hovered by the doorway, her wrinkled fingers touching her white hair, her neck, anything other than the two children who sat before her. Her eyes were wide and hopeful as if she were about to fulfil a lifelong prophecy.

Charlie stared at the photograph. At first, Hestia thought he was shocked, but as her cousin's skin turned white, she had a funny feeling that it wasn't shock, that made Charlie stare at the man and the baby.

'Oh,' he whispered, voice distant and foggy. 'Er, what...?'

'What's wrong, Charlie?' asked his mother, as she wrapped her cardigan further around her.

'Is something happening?' Aunt Bone crept forward. 'Aunt Eustacia rang me. She had one of her premonitions. Are you a proper Yewbeam, after all?'

Hestia stiffened, and very slowly she turned to face her cousin. He couldn't be ... his gifts wold have shown when he was young—maybe two or three, like her's had done.

Maisie glared at Aunt Bone. Suddenly Charlie began to pull his ears. He shook his head. Hestia grabbed his hands, pulling them away from his head.

'They've made a mistake at the shop.' Charlie suddenly shouted, as if he couldn't hear anything. 'Where's Runner Bean?'

'There's no need to shout, Charlie.' Amy Bone looked over his shoulder. 'My goodness, that's certainly not a dog,'

'Ow!' wailed Charlie and he ripped his hands out of Hestia's tight grip, pressing them to his ears. He stared at the photograph again as a puzzled expression clouded his face. Charlie looked at his mother.

'Who said that?' he asked. Amy frowned.

'Who said what, Charlie?'

'Is there a man in here?' he asked. Maisie giggled.

'Only you, Charlie,'

Hestia shuddered as Aunt Bone's clawed hands bit into her shoulder, her beady eyes peering over her niece's shoulder so that she could look at Charlie.

'Tell me what you hear,' she demanded.

'Voices,' said Charlie. 'I know it sounds silly but they seem to be coming from this photograph.'

Aunt Bone nodded, her grip tightening on Hestia's shoulder.

'What do they say?' she questioned, her dark eyes narrowed with succession and curiosity.

'For goodness sake, Grandma Bone,' Maisie retorted, 'don't be ridiculous,'

Aunt Bone gave Maisie a withering, deadly look.

'I am not being ridiculous,' she snapped. Amy's face had paled, her eyes anxiously drifting around the room. She sat next to her son as Maisie moved around the kitchen, pulling pans out of cupboards.

'You shouldn't encourage it,' she muttered. 'It's all rubbish. I won't have it...'

'Shhhh!' hissed Charlie. He so stared intently at the photograph, that for a while, Hestia thought that his eyeballs would drop out of his skull.

'Shall I take the photo back, Charlie?' Amy asked.

'No,' Charlie murmured, as if he was at the bottom a well, 'not yet,'

'Hush!' commanded Aunt Bone as Maisie's banging became louder and louder. 'Charlie can't hear.'

'It's all nonsense,' Maisie grumbled. 'I don't know how you can just sit there, Amy and let your potty mother-in-law get away with it. Poor Charlie. He's just a boy. He's got nothing to do with those crazy Yewbeams.'

'He's got their blood,' said Charlie's mother, quietly 'You can't get away from that.'

Maisie closed her mouth so tightly, it became a thin line. Hestia looked at her fingers. She really hoped he wasn't endowed, then maybe, just maybe he wouldn't be under the Yewbeams' control.

'I don't think it was anything really I just imagined it.' Charlie said, turning to his mother as if trying to reassure her. Aunt Bone leant even closer to the boy so that she could hiss in his ear.

'Listen tonight,' hissed Aunt Bone. 'Things work better after midnight.'

'He'll be asleep by then, I'll have you know,' said Maisie, who had turned the second Aunt Bone had spoken, her rabbit-like ears sharp and deadly. 'It's all rubbish.'

'Huh! Just you wait!' retorted Aunt Bone. She gave Maisie one last stern look, prodded Hestia's back with a sharp nail and walked away leaving a scent of centuries old mothballs and dry mint to drift around the kitchen.

'I didn't hear anything,' muttered Charlie when Aunt Bone had gone. Amy frowned.

'Are you sure?' she asked.

'Honest. I was just doing it to tease Aunt Bone,' Charlie said. But there was something in his voice as if he was trying to convince himself as well as his mother.

'Charlie, you're a wicked boy.' Maisie cried as she banged a meat cleaver into a meaty bone. Amy looked relieved and she opened the evening paper. Hestia watched as Charlie slipped the photograph back into its envelope. He looked exhausted. Large bags lined his dark eyes, and his face was pale. Hestia jumped as the doorbell rang. She heard the door open and Aunt Bone's screeching voice echoed down the corridor.

'It's Benjamin Brown, isn't it?' she growled. 'Charlie and Hestia are in the kitchen. And you can leave that mangy Baked Bean outside.'

'It's Runner, not Baked,' Benjamin's voice retorted, 'and I can't leave him outside. It's raining.'

'Dogs like rain,' snapped Aunt Bone. Benjamin must have informed her because a second later the door opened and a large golden retarder suddenly bound into the room, a damp-haired boy following behind him. Benjamin was small for his age, and due to his pale face and a mop of hay coloured hair, he was often bullied at school. People stole things from him, tripped him, and laughed at him. Hestia, although no longer at the boys' school, often wondered if she, Lysander and Tancred would one day turn up and tell the bullies off.

Runner Bean rushed right up to Maisie, his long tongue licking her ankles as his nose lifted into the air, right int he direction of the meaty bone.

'Get off!' Maisie shrieked, tapping the dog on the nose.

'You're both coming to my party aren't you?' Benjamin asked Charlie and Hestia.

''Course we are,' said Charlie. Hestia smiled wrapping an arm around Benjamin's wet coat.

'We wouldn't miss it, even if the world was ending.'

'Good,' the boy said, 'because I'm getting a game that needs three people to play it.'

Runner Bean whined.

'We'll be there,' said Charlie cheerfully. Hestia bit her lip. She and Charlie hadn't bought Benjamin a present get. They'd have to get something tomorrow.

'Want to come for a walk with Runner?' Benjamin asked hopefully.

'OK.' Charlie said.

'Not me,' Hestia moaned, 'I've been out all day.'

'Huh! Just you wait!' retorted Aunt Bone. She gave Maisie one last stern look, prodded Hestia's back with a sharp nail and walked away leaving a scent of centuries old mothballs and dry mint to drift around the kitchen.

'I didn't hear anything,' muttered Charlie when Aunt Bone had gone. Amy frowned.

'Are you sure?' she asked.

'Honest. I was just doing it to tease Aunt Bone,' Charlie said. But there was something in his voice as if he was trying to convince himself as well as his mother.

'Charlie, you're a wicked boy.' Maisie cried as she banged a meat cleaver into a meaty bone. Amy looked relieved and she opened the evening paper. Hestia watched as Charlie slipped the photograph back into its envelope. He looked exhausted. Large bags lined his dark eyes, and his face was pale. Hestia jumped as the doorbell rang. She heard the door open and Aunt Bone's screeching voice echoed down the corridor.

'It's Benjamin Brown, isn't it?' she growled. 'Charlie and Hestia are in the kitchen. And you can leave that mangy Baked Bean outside.'

'It's Runner, not Baked,' Benjamin's voice retorted, 'and I can't leave him outside. It's raining.'

'Dogs like rain,' snapped Aunt Bone. Benjamin must have informed her because a second later the door opened and a large golden retarder suddenly bound into the room, a damp-haired boy following behind him. Benjamin was small for his age, and due to his pale face and a mop of hay coloured hair, he was often bullied at school. People stole things from him, tripped him, and laughed at him. Hestia, although no longer at the boys' school, often wondered if she, Lysander and Tancred would one day turn up and tell the bullies off.

Runner Bean rushed right up to Maisie, his long tongue licking her ankles as his nose lifted into the air, right int he direction of the meaty bone.

'Get off!' Maisie shrieked, tapping the dog on the nose.

'You're both coming to my party aren't you?' Benjamin asked Charlie and Hestia.

''Course we are,' said Charlie. Hestia smiled wrapping an arm around Benjamin's wet coat.

'We wouldn't miss it, even if the world was ending.'

'Good,' the boy said, 'because I'm getting a game that needs three people to play it.'

Runner Bean whined.

'We'll be there,' said Charlie cheerfully. Hestia bit her lip. She and Charlie hadn't bought Benjamin a present get. They'd have to get something tomorrow.

'Want to come for a walk with Runner?' Benjamin asked hopefully.

'OK.' Charlie said.

'Not me,' Hestia moaned, 'I've been out all day.'

'See you later then,' Benjamin responded, pulling Runner Bean and Charlie away.

As the two left number nine, Maisie shouted something about supper. Her voice was drowned out by the wind and thunder. Hestia frowned as she closed the door. Tancred's father must have found out that his son had such out of the house, and now he was enacting his fearsome anger all over town. She sat on the stairwell, her lean fingers trailing through her hair.

Reaching for her coat, the endowed rummaged through her pockets before pulling out a tattered book. The cover was faded and dog-eared and written across the page in small, crumbly handwriting were the words, "Marion's Journal." Licking her lips, Hestia opened her mother's diary.

_**31st of August, 1979** _

_**Alpine is endowed.** _

_**My twin...my other half...can move things with his mind!** _

_**Mam, Dad and I were surprised, no one's had a gift since Grandma Miryam left Russia, but that was nearly forty years ago. Two women appeared at our house today, asking if Alpine and I would like to come to their school. Mam said yes, proclaiming that Alpine was a fantastic artist and I was a great singer, something which the school apparently treasures. But I can't help but feel that the two only showed up at our door because of my brother's gift.** _

_**Jenny wasn't too pleased when I told her that I was moving school, but I promised her I'd see her at the weekend. I think I made matters worse when I told her that it was a boarding school in England. How are we ever going to afford it? We live in the Gorbals, for Christ's sake! Dad can barely afford to pay the landlord! But alas, Alpine and I are now on a train, heading towards the school.** _

_**Apparently, it's a special school, for gifted children, but if so, then why do we have to wear capes? Mine's blue and as deep and lovely as sapphires, while Alpines is green. They're going to split us up. Alpine's going to be in the Art Department, while I'm in Music. Yes, I am a little annoyed that we're separated, but the school said that all endowed children have to be together, plus, we have two separate talents. I'm going to miss him.** _

_**The train's stopping now, so I best stop writing, besides, Alpine want's to give me a sandwich.** _

_**Let's hope Bloor's Academy is not as bad as my last school...** _

_**Marion-May** _

Hestia jumped as a large hand landed on her shoulder. Look up, she found her father's tired face, his dark eyes staring at the yellowed pages, with an unrecognisable expression on his face.

'Your aunts are coming,' he said. 'Grizelda want's the both of us to get Charlie. You best hide that diary before my sister comes back down the stairs.'

Hestia closed her eyes.

'Fine,' she whispered. Rising to her feet, Hestia pulled her coat off the bannister and stuffed her mother's journal back into her pocket. She pulled her jacket over her shoulders and wrapped a thick scarf around her neck. Smiling, her father opened the door, his coat already on.

As the two walked out of number nine, the rain fell harder against the pavement. It almost cut Hestia's skin as the cold rain spilling down her neck. Quickly, her father strode forward, his long legs stretching down the pavement. Hestia followed, grateful for her unusual height. The streetlamp were dull and cold, the thin rays of sunshine driving behind the pointed rooftops of Lysander's mansion. Charlie and Benjamin were sitting on the pavement.

The two stopped beside the two boys, waiting for them to notice them. There was a loud clap of thunder and the boys jumped, suddenly realising that the two figures stood beside them. Paton Yewbeam's wet hair was plastered to his forehead in wide, black bands and his black coat made him look even more ominous than usual.

'It's raining,' Paton announced. 'Had you not noticed?'

Charlie looked up.

'Uncle Paton!' he said, surprised. Paton raised an eyebrow.

'You're wanted at home,' Paton told Charlie. The two boys rose to their feet, wincing as their legs creaked in pain. Paton grunted. He turned and hurried back down the street, leaving his great-nephew to wonder what drastic action could have caused Hestia's father to leave the house. But the answer was in the question, for there was only one set of people who could make Paton do something, and that was his sisters.

The Yewbeams were coming to number nine.


End file.
